- c h a p t e r   t w e n t y - 

"It's been two months, and I still don't think I understand why they let him walk free. Moriarty. Stupid name. It's almost like a cuss word now; makes you feel all nasty once you've said it."

"Can't say that I disagree," John sighed. "I was furious after I found out. But Sherlock didn't seem to care, for some reason. Well, we've managed to get ourselves wrapped up in a new case already."

"And what exactly would that be?" Emma asked, leaning forwards in John's direction. "I knew that Donovan and Lestrade were here a few days ago. Does that have anything to do with it, by any chance?"

"Yes, actually," John began, preparing to give her a decent response.

Emma soon interrupted, saying, "That's what I thought. I almost figured it had something to do with all of these people who have moved in around us lately. Some of them look sort of sketchy, don't you think?"

John felt his face beginning to pale as he realized that he knew the truth behind the new neighbors. But he couldn't let her know, not yet. He moved the topic back to what it had been before she had changed it around.

"There were some kids who've been kidnapped from a school, we went to the scene to look for clues."

"Oh, did you find something?" Emma asked, tilting her head.

"We did. You know how Sherlock is. He always finds clues of some sort. But I'm not so sure he's figured anything out yet, that's the thing. We're just going to have to wait and see."

"He's not getting anywhere, is he?" Emma giggled. "I know it probably makes me sound like a horrible person, but I love it when that happens to him."

"Trust me, you're not alone on that," John replied, shaking his head. "I get so many comments on the cases he can't solve that half the time I have to disable the comments completely. It's a mess."

"I should really read your blog more often, shouldn't I?" Emma asked, her eyes flicking up towards the ceiling. "I mean, I read the one with me in it and a little of some of the others...but other than that, I haven't really read much of it. Everyone at the office is always raving about it - it doesn't feel like I have to read it to know what's going on. Maddie tells me about it too. She absolutely adores it."

John had been about to respond to her, but he found it was far easier if he could just simply let her continue rambling on. Besides, even if he tried to interject something, she would just carry on with her words anyways.

"Maddie loves hearing anything about what's going on around here. To be honest, I love talking about to her," Emma said, chattering like a noisy sort of bird.

The only problem with this was the fact that Emma tended to keep on talking for as long as she knew someone was listening. As soon as someone's attention began to float away, she would snap at them. If John wasn't careful, he'd end up getting wrapped up in this.

"Well, enough about Maddie for now. Have I ever told you about my cousin Chelsea? No? I was pretty sure I hadn't. Well, you see, she looks rather similar to me, which is very irritating. People used to get us confused when we were little girls. Some people still do, if we're in the same place at the same time."

"Yep," John replied absentmindedly. His thoughts were drifting far away from lookalike cousins to things far more dire and urgent. Nevertheless, Emma didn't seem to notice the shift in his attention. She was still far too wrapped up in her own problems.

"We might have looked the same, but we're nothing alike. Apparently she's the person everyone wants me to be, can you believe that? She got married ten years ago. Ten! They're still together despite of everything. My mother's always getting on me to get married. Not that I want to, though. Or that I don't want to. Have you ever thought about getting married, John?"

Now this was something that ended up catching his attention. He started blinking rapidly in order to bring himself back into the real world. Soon he found himself with Emma just about glaring at him from where she was standing.

"Married?" John asked, echoing her question. "Well, no, not really - it's hard to say, though."

"Oh," Emma replied. "Hmm. Well, I suppose that's good to know." For a fleeting moment, disappointment flickered across her face. Seeing that this part of the conversation was getting nowhere, she switched herself back to tales about her cousin.

"The thing about Chelsea is that she always ends up being right. People think she's some sort of hero just because she's suffered...there's a word for that, right? I mean, her mother was murdered when she was fairly young, but my father was murdered too. She's not the only one who suffers around here!"

At this point, John was far too heavily focused on his thoughts to listen to a word that spilled out from between Emma's lips. It had been just a few days ago when he had found himself at none other than the Diogene's Club, looking for Sherlock's older brother.

When he had finally found him, Mycroft had informed John about the new neighbors moving in around 221B. They had seemed to be rather ordinary new neighbors, but it had been revealed that this was not the case. These new people were world-class assassins.

Although John had a feeling their aim would be focused on Sherlock and himself, he still worried for Emma. She had a tendency to get herself wrapped up in difficult situations, and if she got tangled with one of the assassins, it could end up being deadly. He didn't want that for her.

John had made up his mind: He had to tell her about it. He had to say something about it, at the very least. Emma would be in just as much danger knowing about it rather than being ignorant of it all.

"John, are you listening to me?" Emma barked, yanking John back into reality. "You're usually such a good listener, I don't know what's been going on lately."

"Emma, Emma," John said, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. He felt rather offended at being called a listener, as if that was all he ever did. He went to his flat and he had to listen to Sherlock all day. He went to his girlfriend and had to listen to her. For once, he wanted to have a voice of his own. Someone else would have to listen to him, and right now it was going to be Emma.

"Yes, John? What is it?" she said. She was still fuming slightly from how he had been ignoring her, but she went ahead and shut herself nevertheless.

"You see, there's -" John began to explain, but he stopped himself. Emma continued staring at him, waiting for some sort of response. She wasn't going to stand for him ignoring her and then refusing to speak to her.

"'There's'?" Emma prompted, trying to get him to say something more. "Come on. John, you can tell me. I would really like to know. Please, just tell me."

John kept his mouth shut despite Emma's request. He was now thinking over what he had been planning to say, unsure if it would be wise to tell her any sort of information about the assassins. She began to get frustrated with him all over again, shaking her head.

"Please. Please tell me. It's got something to with these neighbors, isn't it? Whatever it is you're not telling me."

"Why would you think that?"

"You started acting all strange as soon as you brought them up," Emma replied. "You don't have to be Sherlock in order to figure that much out. I mean, seriously."

"Look, it doesn't really matter," John said, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it."

"It seemed to matter until you decided you better not tell me," Emma said, adding in a melodramatic sigh. "You just never want to tell me anything, do you? I mean, I don't even know your middle name!"

"Emma, I don't even know your middle name," John responded, pulling out the flaw in her logic. "There's no reason for you to tell me, or for me to tell you for that matter."

"Lydia," Emma burst out. "Emma Lydia Newman. That's my middle name. Now you tell me yours."

"No."

"Please?"

"No, Emma. It doesn't matter. Just forget about it. We have more important things to think about."

"Like whatever it is you're not telling me," Emma said. "Come on, you can just go ahead and tell me what it is. You were just about to say it!" she prompted, urging him forwards in order to tell her what was going on.

"Well, now I'm not about to say anything," John replied. He was being incredibly stubborn on this. He had realized that telling Emma about there being assassins nearby would likely end up making her panic.

He hadn't forgotten her reaction to finding a torso inside of the oven. While that had been absolutely horrifying, it had also been a good indicator of how she handled her fear. Then, of course, there was the ordeal with the gun when she had alerted a murderous gang to their presence and forced them to flee. No, it was better off if she didn't know everything that was going on.

"Emma, just be safe. Promise me that you'll be as safe as you could possibly be."

"Be safe?" Emma echoed. "You're asking me to be safe."

"Yes."

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about, John!" she replied, looking exasperated. "Be safe, be safe!" she mocked, throwing her hands into the air. "Be safe about what?"

"Just be safe. It's a generalization, really. I just want to be safe about, well, everything that you can."

"I'll do my best," Emma said, "but since I'm not really sure what you're going on about there might be some problems."

John stared over at her for a moment. Now that she finally had caught his attention for a full moment, she had nothing left to say. Emma felt her eyes widen somewhat before she opened her mouth to speak and found no words coming out.

"John," she finally said. Emma was tempted to take a few steps forwards and kiss him, but she was interrupted by the sound of a mobile buzzing. It was John's, as he had received a text. He pulled it out and stared at the message for a moment, his face immediately turning to one of thought.

"Oh, looks like I have to go," John said, sighing as he looked at the text again. "I have to head to St. Barts with Sherlock. He must have something to investigate. I should probably tag along, then."

"You can't stay, even for another five minutes?" Emma asked, her face falling. "We were having a good conversation. Come on. You can stay for a little longer, can't you?"

"I'm sorry, Emma. I have to go. You know how Sherlock is. I certainly don't want to keep him waiting."

"But what about me?" Emma asked, pursing out her lips into a slight pout.

"Look, Emma, I truly am sorry. But I have to go," John said. He reached out a hand and put it on top of hers in order to comfort her. This small gesture could never be enough for Emma, though. The moment he began to pull his hand away, she grabbed it right back. She ended up scraping his hand slightly with her fingernails, but in the moment it didn't matter to her.

"Please stay, please, please, please!" Emma begged, pulling herself closer to John. He found his words stuck in the back of his throat as she approached him. When she was close enough, she reached out and dug her fingers into his hair, holding his head between her hands.

John found his voice again, but it was too late. His words were immediately muffled as Emma pushed their lips together. This was no romantic embrace, at least not in the doctor's mind. For him, it was more of a struggle to pull away and get out than anything else.

He was able to detach his lips from Emma's for a brief moment, but she immediately started pulling him back in again as she warbled, "Please, just stay. Just stay for a little longer." Soon they were kissing all over again, until finally John yanked himself away.

Emma looked as if she could start throwing a temper tantrum, but instead she just stood there and watched John.

"Goodbye, Emma," he said. Without another sound, he turned around and promptly exited 221C. He could deal with what had just happened later. At the moment, he had to meet Sherlock and go to St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

Emma stood in the center of her flat numbly, feeling unable to do anything. She had been alone with John, and still she seemed to be far from the main point of attention for him. It was like his mind had been drifting elsewhere, far away from her.

She hated it. She hated feeling like that with such a burning passion that she couldn't take it. Whisky. She needed whisky, right that moment. Emma could drink whisky, sketch, and then maybe play some cello. Perhaps it would make more sense to do those steps in another order, but she had to get the alcohol first.

How long had she been drinking that horrid liquid? It seemed like she had been doing it forever, like she had been sipping whisky from a bottle since she was an infant, but that was not the case. No, she had started when she was a teenager. Everything had started when she was a teenager, really. The problem was, it never stopped.

It had been at a party when she first tried the stuff. She had been the youngest one there, but since she dressed like she was older no one had really questioned it. Nobody there had really been old enough to drink alcohol, let alone Emma. Nevertheless, she found herself surrounded by people chanting her name, telling her to drink. How could she possibly resist?

The burning sensation had never dulled over all those years. It was still just as painful as the first time, except for now that one shot of whisky wouldn't be anywhere near enough to get her drunk. No, she had built up quite the tolerance for the golden fluid.

All those thoughts about whisky made her crave it even more. She practically ran into her kitchen, swinging open her cupboard to find the bottle sitting in its normal spot. Emma smiled and grabbed it, pulling it out and on the counter.

"Fine then," Emma murmured to herself as she poured a fair amount of whisky into a glass. "If John won't give me attention, then I'll find someone who will. Someone always does, eventually."

A/N This chapter. First I felt bad for Emma, then I was really irritated with her...and then I just wasn't sure how to feel towards the end. The relationships I have with my characters...*melodramatic sigh.* But, nevertheless, I think I managed to make a fairly good chapter considering it was contained inside of a few minutes in her flat.